


Apollo, God of the Sun

by I_am_the_Muse



Series: Tales of the Gods [5]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Apollo being a cutie, F/M, think aaron taylor johnson before the facial hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2738141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_the_Muse/pseuds/I_am_the_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all honesty, all you’d ever gotten from him were simple kisses – nothing quite of the passion that the snoop had said. Though he had the body of a man and the eyes of one he seemed more than content to play silly child’s games. You did not complain, at least outwardly; he was a god after all. That he deemed you worthy enough to even spend time with shocked you. Of course, you’d never tell him that; his ego needed no stroking from you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apollo, God of the Sun

You lived in a small, sheltered town. And as anyone who lives in a small, sheltered town knows, everyone lives a certain way. Everyone knows everyone else, your personal business is the business of everyone, and no one can have any secrets. It just isn’t polite. The people in the small, sheltered town in which you live don’t like you very much. You’ve known this since you first arrived there 6 years ago.

You, yourself, had grown up in a large city – many large cities – and mostly lived in foster homes. Your parents lived in this small, sheltered town and own the lone large house on the top of the hill. Your mother left the town – or was run out of it, you’re not sure – when she became pregnant with you. You had no idea who your father was – and you still don’t – and only knew that you even had any other family when your father died.

_His_ father, when he died, had left the large house and all its possessions to his offspring and any offspring they might have. And so when your father died in a rather nasty car accident, his father’s lawyers – who were still alive – went out to search for any living relatives of the man.

Being the small town that it was, they _of course_ knew the dalliance he had had with your mother when they were but young wild things. Finding records of your mother and then of you were not easy but they managed it. So on your 16 th birthday a lawyer by the name of Hanson found you and offered his condolences as well as the all the knowledge about your dearly departed father and all that he had left for you.

After your more than eager acceptance of the deeds to the large house on the top of the hill, and all the possessions therein, Hanson proceeded to inform that until you were of legal age he would be your temporary guardian as your father did not appoint any in the event of his death.

And _so_ , you’ve all the way to that small, sheltered town and to the large house on the top of the hill, so isolated from everyone else. The townsfolk were nice enough to begin with. They held no respect for your father, or your grandfather, or in fact anyone of that line. Apparently they were the black sheep of the town, but the people were more than certain that you would not be anything like them at all.

They were wrong.

You didn’t like the people in town very much. The boys were sexist and the women were judgemental and they were _all_ narrow-minded. You didn’t feel you had time for people like that, and more often than not you stayed up in your large house, happy to be by yourself and watch the sunsets and sunrises from the window of the attic.

The townsfolk didn’t like you. Hadn’t since you turned 18 and Hanson was no longer there to convince you to go into town to socialise. Now, though, you were 22 and had no real desire to go to there and get a job or earn a living. Apparently your grandfather had shares in a very successful company and thus you were pretty much set for life.

The townsfolk _really_ didn’t like you. The dislike only grew once they heard that you were apparently seeing a young man from out of town. Someone – some snoop most likely – allegedly saw you kissing a young man with thick, brown curly hair through the top window of your house. All sorts of theories from that alleged affair sprung up and soon everyone thought you were pregnant or in some kind of scandalous affair with the man who only came to visit you when his wife wasn’t at home – wherever that home may be.

When you heard of these stories the last you’d gone to town to get groceries you thought it uproariously funny, and had a good time laughing in the face of the old crone who tried to admonish your whorish behaviour.

You were _obviously_ not pregnant, and you weren’t having an affair with a married, or any man at all. He was _so much_ more than _just_ a man.

He was Apollo, God of light and music and healing and you saw him every time he move the sun over the sky. You saw him when you first arrived, and he hadn’t aged a day since then. What started out as friendship – your only friend apart from Hanson – grew stronger over the years, and his eyes would linger longer as your young form changed and grew into that of a beautiful woman.

Your breasts filled out some, and your blonde hair grew luscious. Your face lost the last of it child-like youth and your ‘innocence’ was gone long before you even met Apollo.

He was a jovial young god, always up to play around in the large house you lived in. You never saw him during the day, of course, he was far too busy with the duties he carried out. He was always there at night, though, only to be whisked away by his horse-drawn chariot to move to sun back into the sky.

So you’d sit every day at sunset, you’d watch him weave his magic across the sky, you’d grow giddy as you’d see the sun start to dip below the horizon and cast the sky full of reds and pinks and oranges until settling on a dark night blue. And Apollo would arrive in the last rays of sunlight, and he’d light up the attic as if he were the sun himself. He always looked so much like an angel in those moments before the sun would drip out of him, and that blazing blond hair would turn brown and his bright white eyes would turn blue. He was _so_ beautiful.

In all honesty, all you’d ever gotten from him were simple kisses – nothing quite of the passion that the snoop had said. Though he had the body of a man and the eyes of one he seemed more than content to play silly child’s games. You did not complain, at least outwardly; he was a _god_ after all. That he deemed you worthy enough to even spend time with shocked you. Of course, you’d never tell him that; his ego needed no stroking from you.

But still, his form set your blood ablaze. It had since the day you first met him and every day hence. He’d arrive in your attic every night in nothing but a thin white toga, his muscular chest on full display, almost every inch of his smooth, unblemished skin simply begging to be touched. You wanted to dig your fingers in his curly locks and command that he fuck in every way imaginable. And you had _such_ a wild imagination.

You wondered sometimes if he could sense your desire for him; you sometimes caught him staring at you in the manner of man when he arrived as you finished showering. Of course, you had planned that. The god arrived every night at the same time for the last 6 years. You wanted to see what he would do if he caught in naught but a fluffy white towel, steam from the hot water still coming off of your body.

He did nothing, as he always did. He only stared at you unlike he’d stared before and then smiled at you before asking if you’d picked up anymore of the mangos from town. He loved those blasted fruit, but you were polite to him at least and told him that you had and they were in the kitchen.

It was so cruel of him, to tease you so, unintentional as it was. He had such a gorgeous form, you wanted to see more of it. You wanted to see it flushed with arousal, _hard_ with it. You wanted to watch him writhe in pleasure, wanted to hear his moans, watch as his face contorted in orgasm.

But he never showed outward signs that you had any effect on him at all. You supposed that could walk naked around him and he’d barely blink an eye at you. It was all a little disappointing and you’d fear you’d die a lonely old woman waiting for him to see as something more than what he did.

That was probably why you’d brought a thin old mattress up to the attic and thick, soft blankets on which to lie. You wore a simple dress, pale blue and light in weight. You wore nothing else. Just as the sunset was about to reach its end you lay down on those blankets and began touching yourself.

You started as you always started, thinking of the sun god. You thought of his eyes, his lips, his tongue; you thought of hands and his fingers that played the lyre so beautifully; you thought of his smooth chest, his pronounced abdominals; you thought of what may lay beneath his toga, be it small or large. He was a god – you knew he’d be large.

Your dress ended up bunched above your thighs as your hands began moving in earnest. One hand lay just above your mound, your middle finger circling your clit; the other had 2 fingers thrust inside of you, slowly increasing in speed as the last lights of the sun began to fade.

Apollo would be coming soon, but you suspected you’d be coming first.

Speaking of, right before you came you caught a glimpse of him beginning to form. You did not see him completely as you shut your eyes and threw your head back, crying out his name as you orgasmed.

There was not a single sound made except for you catching your breath. For a sick second you felt your stomach sink through the floorboards as you thought your god may not appreciate your less than chaste approach. The feeling only doubled when you felt hands on your knees, closing your loosely open legs and moving up to you thighs to pull your dress down. Finally you opened your eyes, an apology on the tip of your tongue as you felt him move away, when you were shocked into silence.

There he sat, resting on his knees, chiselled and breathtaking as ever, completely naked, one hand stroking his thick, impossibly hard cock, all the while smiling the same child-like smile at you that he always did. Only, his eyes didn’t look at you like a child. He looked as though he wanted to devour you whole, like he had long, arduous plans for you that would leave you a writhing, moaning mess on the floor – much like how he’d found you.

You couldn’t help but stare at the way he stroked his cock. So slow and determined, teasing you by teasing himself. It took strength but you managed to drag your eyes up his body and meet his heated gaze. You were speechless and your mouth hung open. Really, you shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were, but he seemed to find your speechlessness very amusing.

After some time he stopped stroking himself and stood, cock jutting out deliciously. He raised a hand and motioned for you to come forward, a glee-filled grin on his face. You sat slowly, unsure of his meaning, but he held his hand steady as got up on your knees. He stopped you from standing and he walked forward, cradling your cheek in his outstretched hand.

“So eager to have me, aren’t you?” he asked, his smooth voice sending shivers of desire down your spine. He gripped your chin and brought you forward while his other hand gripped his length and held it up to your open mouth.

You felt your heartbeat  speed up, your breaths become shallow, your mouth watered. You darted your tongue, lapping at the bead of pre-come on the tip of his cock. His eyes fluttered for a moment before he brought his hand that was on your cheek to the back of your head.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked, his breath taking on a husky tone. You nodded and opened your mouth wider, leaning forward to take the head of his cock into your mouth and suckle on it. Apollo let out a sigh at that, a sigh that turned into a groan as you took him deeper, moaning yourself at the weight of him in your mouth,

His other hand came up to join the first, and he began to gently guide your head over his cock. It started off slow, but soon he began to speed up and you had to rest your hands on his thighs for balance. He’d jerk unexpectedly when you’d moan, wanting – no, needing to feel something, _anything_ , inside your cunt and sucked on him.

He began to stroke your face and he leant forward. Your dragged one of your hands from his thigh to cup his balls before trailing a single finger back to push lightly is his entrance. He let out a loud, shocked groan and came in your mouth so unexpectedly that you pulled back as you started to cough, your gasp of surprise unheard between your coughs as streams of come ended up on your face.

You heard rather than saw him fall to his knees and start to wipe his seed off of your face. He was babbling out apologies, and you felt yourself laughing in spite of that.

“Quiet, you silly man-child,” you said as your giggles subsided. He gave you a small sheepish smile at that before lying on the make-shift bed and pulling you down with him. “You’re quite the tease, Apollo, holding back on me like that.”

“It’s only teasing if you choose to be affected by it,” he retorted and kissed you quite soundly.

It was slow now, slow and lazy and perfect. The moon shone through your attic window and cast an eerie glow on the room. It made sharp shadows cut across his face, aging him somehow. It only made your desire for him grow. He seemed to sense that as he only smirked at you before wrapping his arm tightly around you and sighing contentedly.

“You must not be in such a rush, my friend,” he whispered, softly stroking your back. “We have all night, and every night after. I am not leaving you.”

_But **I** may leave **you**_

**Author's Note:**

> And here we have the fifth instalment of the Tales of the Gods series. As always if you have any suggestions of gods you'd like to see (they don't all have to be Greek) or actors/actresses you'd like to see depicted as gods just let me know and I'll see what I can think up.
> 
> I'd like to thank QueenUndertheBloodyMountain for the suggestion of Apollo and also to apologise for not using Chris Hemsworth. Apollo is more often than not depicted as a beardless youth and so I as you can see I kind of focussed on that. I'm more than happy to use Hemsworth at a later stage, should I find a god he matches perfectly.
> 
> Also I've been thinking of doing a 'The Hobbit' version of my tales, any thoughts?


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